A Bored Lich - Chapter 329

The Head Mage of the Acrin Magic Academy, Glenin Ostroch, beckoned for the group to come closer. It was more like an order. Condensed particles of mana floated off his liver-spotted skin like bubbles rising from the ocean’s deepest depths. Time had yet to dull his sharp gaze, which seemed to pierce through each and every one of the group members – especially Elero.

Thomas leaned back and whispered: “Do you think he remembers that you tried to break into this place?”

“Shut up,” Elero hissed.

“Elero Mech,” the Head Mage announced. Elero flinched yet the Head Mage only continued down the line. “Thomas Virility, and Frey; thank you for coming to our aid.” He looked lastly towards Lance, sighed, and motioned for the group to sit directly in front of him.

The students (who had accompanied the four to the second floor) rejoined their peers, spread out, and entered meditative states. The instructors on the other hand had formed up in exactly seven pairs and awaited by the only seven doorways not obstructed by the all-encompassing, translucent crystal. Despite the additional forces, no one sat within a certain radius of the Head Mage.

“Thomas and I never told you our names,” Frey replied to Glenin as soon as he sat down.

“I was curious,” Glenin mused. “Apprentices are such valuable commodities, especially those training under General Alexander Finlish. Speaking of which, where is he?”

Everyone looked at Frey, who fought the urge to curse. ‘Why the hell did Alexander have to leave now out of all the times to do so?’ he thought. Students peeked open an eye and turned his way, having recognized the name of Acrin Kingdom’s strongest knight. Surely such a prodigy could do so much more than the three stooges sitting in front of their Head Mage. Frey swallowed his saliva: “He’s…uh…”

Just as he had resigned himself to his fate the heavy silence was shattered. Six doors burst open. Six groups of instructors, sweat dripping down their pale faces, shambled into the mess hall. All but a single pair of awaiting mages hurried to replace them.

“What is this?” Elero asked.

“Shift change,” Glenin said. He whipped around to face the seventh, unopened doorway. The Elementals, as well as the Watchmen, prepared themselves.

Elero and Thomas condensed life essence around their eyes in waiting for whatever may enter. Instead of life essence, Frey condensed a flaming aura around his eyes. He blinked and everything went white. “Damn this power,” he muttered as he squinted. ‘Wait a second.’ Down, up, left, right; it was as if every surface of the mess hall had been painted the color of peoples’ souls. He blinked and his vision returned to normal.

The seventh door finally creaked open. A single mage clawed his way into the mess hall, his blood-soaked robe streaking across the white, pristine floor.

“Wait for me!” a voice screamed. “Please, for the love of the goddess!”

“Close it,” the survivor screeched. With a simple wave of Glenin’s hand a layer of translucent crystal grew over the entrance. The doors at the northern end were in a similar state.

‘It can’t be,’ Frey thought as a bead of sweat rolled down Glenin’s crooked nose. The giant ran his hand along the crystal laiden ground. ‘No. That’s impossible. This is just magic, right?’ He tugged on his hair and rubbed the blue blood between his fingers. It wouldn’t be wet for much longer.

A pair of waiting instructors hurried over to the single survivor. Frey expected a flash of healing magic. He was familiar with them after spending time on the front lines with the apprentice War Monk, Oliver. There was no flash. No magic circle appeared at all. The instructors slid the survivor’s sleeves down and pulled off his Allpass and his spatial ring.

The few students who had watched the looting were quietly encouraged to look away. Lance bit his lip and muttered: “Paragraph one hundred and thirty three: in the event of an emergency instructors are to do their utmost to protect their students, even at the cost of their lives.” He looked over to the group of students he had brought to such a dangerous place and grimaced.

The pair of instructors made their way back to the Head Mage and bowed. “Shall we alternate shifts at another doorway?”

“Make elementals with the third and second year students,” Glenin said after a pause. He sighed and seemed to age in mere moments.

Frey turned to see Thomas dig fingernails into his own legs. They were more like claws; something changed in his body. “Still wish you could have gone to the front lines with Doevm and me?” Frey asked.

Thomas was locked onto the survivor: “He’s still dying.” He pointed so the rest would notice. “I know you guys aren’t knights but still…that’s a cruel thing to do to another human being; leaving him there to bleed out, all alone.” He took a shaky breath. “It’s fucked!”

“We are not trained in healing magic as War Monks are,” was the old Head Mage’s reply. “Please keep your voice down young man. Meditation requires quiet and clarity of one’s mind.” He gestured to the lines of silent mages.

The students were simply worn out from creating Elementals. The worst cases were infrequent breaths. The instructors bled from their ears, eyes, and mouth. Silently, every single mage in the room endured.

“Mana is powerful…” Glenin explained. “And so are the repercussions of depleting your source over and over again.” He coughed into his hand a few times. “I may have gotten to know many secrets of mana but time has taken its toll on my old bones.”

Thomas scanned the bloodiest instructors. There were some who sat without any movement from their chests. Eyes were never to open again. “You people are killing yourselves, all just to hide in here?”

“To prepare,” the Head Mge said as two more Elementals joined the third and final line of defense. “The instructors know what fate awaits them. The students must be protected. They remain with me and summon defenses. This is all intended to stall until the knights come.”